


A Sorta Fairytale

by sweeterthankarma



Series: Enough Love to Go Around [3]
Category: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)
Genre: Bisexual Georgia Goodwin, Bisexual Helen Sharpe, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Multi, Polyamory, Sharpwin Squared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 06:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20223190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: It's strange to be at a point in her life where Helen associates home with where she is instead of where she was or where she wants to be. Home is here, surrounded by Max and Georgia, finding love in ways she’d never anticipated but can't imagine being without.





	A Sorta Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sahraylia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahraylia/gifts).

> Inspired by and dedicated to [sahraylia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahraylia), who I appreciate so much for always talking about Sharpwin Squared with me and coming up with glorious headcanons for all the potential that they could have. <3
> 
> Title comes from the song "A Sorta Fairytale" by Tori Amos.

The Goodwins’— and now Helen’s— apartment comes wholly alive nearly every morning, as if it’s a living being of its own coming to consciousness at the same time as its inhabitants. It’s lit up by sunlight on even the cloudiest of days, maybe because of the placement or angle of the windows or maybe just because Max is inside and he always finds a way to see the bright side. Therefore, so do Helen and Georgia, since not only does he have a way of rubbing off on them, but it’s impossible to be around him and not see what he sees, to not love everything he loves, to not love _ him. _

That’s how they got in this beautiful predicament in the first place. 

The kitchen is furnished with mostly Helen’s things, all passed down to her by her mother who loves both decorating and cooking and wanted to share those passions, but Georgia is the one who actually ends up utilizing them. She’s always finding new recipes and expanding on old ones, and both Max and Helen feel like they’re the most fortunate people alive to be treated to her meals so often. They live right down the street from one of the best pizza joints in all of Manhattan, but they hardly even go there— okay, they go once a week, usually on Fridays, and considering the frequency with which Max used to get takeout from there before meeting Georgia, one pie a week seems far more reasonable.

Helen’s self-proclaimed morning duty is to fill the kitchen to the brim with music, usually with the soft, transcendent voice of Tori Amos that manages to bring her to happy tears every now and then, no matter how well composed she likes to think she is. It reminds her of home, and it’s strange to be at a point in her life where she associates home with where she is instead of where she was or where she wants to be. Home is here, surrounded by Max and Georgia, finding love in ways she’d never anticipated but can't imagine being without.

This morning is unlike any other; “The Wrong Band” wakes Helen up, along with the smell of blueberries and cinnamon wafting through the warm spring air that breezes through their apartment. It’s the perfect way to wake up, quite frankly, and she rises with a smile on her face, not even groaning as she moves from the cocoon of soft blankets and steps barefoot onto the cold wooden floors.

Max and Georgia always wake up first, ready to start the day at the first chime of their alarm, or at least the second. Helen always rises last as she’s not a morning person, though she insists to her lovers that she meditates and performs a mental checklist of her daily obligations while laying, eyes closed, in bed for a few extra moments. Max and Georgia both know she’s full of shit but they don’t dare say a word; they think it’s cute how she hogs all of the blankets as soon as they stand, anyways.

Helen perks up even more as soon as she walks into the kitchen and sees her lovers turn to face her. They’re already setting up breakfast: Max pours the coffee and Georgia finishes up cutting today’s fruit assortment— strawberries, bananas and blueberries— and with a sweet kiss to her temple she asks, “Helen, darling, could you take the bacon off the stove?”

Helen answers her with a gentle hum and a soft hand to her shoulder. She rubs the fabric of her sweater, the beige fuzzy one she always wears in the morning, and doesn’t move right away like she should. Instead, she takes an extra moment to wrap her arms around her, taking in her warmth and comfort, and Georgia doesn’t protest, doesn’t have a reason to. 

If Helen is honest, she’s still tired and Georgia’s softness reminds her of her bed, but also, she’s just incredibly sentimental. She’s found a beautiful life for herself. 

She smiles when Max comes up behind her, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth as she finally goes to move the bacon. He wraps his arms around her hips, making her lean back into him, and when he marks kisses down her throat, just hard enough to make her breath catch but soft enough to not leave a mark (it’s a work day after all, and he knows better.)

Still, Helen gets distracted by him and somehow burns the side of her index finger on the pan when she goes to put it down. Max kisses the pain away immediately, pressing his lips to the reddened skin, and Georgia practically leaps up from the table where she had just sat down to do the same.

“I’m fine,” Helen insists, unable to hide her giggles as they pepper her with affection and care. “Come on, come on, let’s eat.”

It’s a rather quiet morning as Georgia reads the paper, Helen scrolls through her email and Max eats. He’s always starving at the beginning of the day, and it’s especially evident today. He goes through a full plate of scrambled eggs and toast, a bowl of berries and yogurt, and a massive slice of turkey bacon. When he thinks Helen isn’t looking, he reaches greedily around the table and across Georgia’s lap to grab Helen’s much smaller piece of bacon.

“You naughty gremlin,” Helen gasps, scolding him. Max grins cheekily even as he shoves the food into his mouth, as if pretending to hide it, and he catches Helen’s hand and kisses it when she goes to swat his wrist. 

_ “Naughty gremlin?” _he repeats once he’s finished chewing. His eyebrows are furrowed in both confusion and amusement, and Georgia is speechless, on the verge of spitting out her tea from laughing so hard.

Tori Amos keeps singing around them as they laugh, this time “A Sorta Fairytale.” In the midst of it all, Helen can’t help but think while the song’s lyrics don’t entirely match, the title is a perfect way to describe the life and the love that she’s found.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please let me know either in the comments or on my Tumblr blog under the same username, sweeterthankarma.


End file.
